Once in Royal David's City
by Riverdancer17
Summary: 'If you wanted to hear her sing why didn't you tell me'- slightly fluffy, written during a carol concert beneath a choir folder and the skirts of my dress. i suck at summarys,readit already! can be taken as slash but you have to squint...


**A/N: so, I'm in a ridiculously Christmassy mood after the actual Guildford County Schola Cantorum Christmas concert yesterday and I have a day off today so you lot are getting this. The solo in 'once in royal David's city' is usually sung by a treble (a soprano male) and I've only ever known it sung by a girl soprano once, yesterday by the lovely Anna Pownell, who is not actually in schola but we hope will be soon so well done her. Aaaaaaanyways here it is. It's not very good and was written in the choir stalls under cover of my own choir folder (Black with a length of red ribbon, just like Mary's) but ENJOY!**

**I don't own anything except one very battered set of Schola uniform.**

'Why are we here, John?' grumbled Sherlock as they made their way slowly up the hill. John scowled at him

'Honestly, Holmes! Anyone'd think I was… making you eat or something.'

Sherlock pouted 'you did make me eat. Right before we came out.'

'Only because you didn't for the whole of last week!'

'I told you-'

'Yes! Alright! Can we please stop bickering!'

There was silent for a grand total of one minute.

'My previous question still stands, John.'

Dr John Watson gritted his teeth and sighed in exasperation. 'We are here, Sherlock, because it is Christmas eve, Guildford has a nice cathedral and well… you'll see, won't you?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to whine a bit more but as the light from the cathedral windows flooded John's stony expression he thought better of it. They stepped into the refectory, the warm air hitting like a wall. A moody teenager wearing a navy skirt and blazer, green shirt and approximately 1000 pimples, handed Sherlock a green piece of paper, which he then proceeded to examine in minute detail. He glanced at John who was wearing an expression of world-weary expectancy. Sherlock smiled slightly.

'cheap paper, still slightly warm, same colour as the council worker's shirt…' he glanced at John's piece of paper 'the wear on certain letters is the same over them all, mass produced but not a professional job and-' he glared at John who coloured and avoided his gaze.

'This is a concert. You dragged me sixty damn miles for a concert.'

John grinned sheepishly. 'It is quite a special one.' He mumbled guiltily. Sherlock flipped the program. It read:

Midnight Mass at Guildford Cathedral.

Featuring Guildford County Schola Cantorum.

Soloist-Mary Elizabeth Watson.

Ahhh, Sherlock thought. 'John, I'm assuming she is some relative of yours? If you wanted to hear her sing why didn't you just tell me?'

John pulled a face 'I didn't want you to start pontificating about how some pre-pubescent schoolgirl would never be as good as you and your violin.'

'I wouldn't have-' Sherlock stopped. He so would have. He sighed. 'Is she good?'

John snorted. 'I don't know. She won't sing at home.'

Sherlock glanced around. There was a girl up at the front talking to a woman in a long black dress. The girl had wide brown eyes and was chewing on her bottom lip as the woman gesticulated. Yes that'd be her.

John yanked Sherlock into a seat about halfway down the aisle. It was only eleven o'clock but already the cathedral was filling up quickly. Apparently Guildford County Schola Cantorum was very popular. Sherlock glanced back up at the choir stands. The-Girl-he-assumed-was-Mary had been joined by more girls all, apparently (going on height, wear and tear on shoes and clothes, etc.) several years older than her. They all wore knee-length black dresses and red shawls but while the other girl's uniforms looked a little faded and worn, Mary's looked brand new.

He turned his attention on Mary. From her height, hair length and slightly too big dress, he guessed that Mary was about eleven years old. With her curly, chocolate brown hair and hazel eyes, she didn't look like John at all but she had the Watson short stance and fair skin. Not a close relation then, but close enough for John to know that she wouldn't sing at home. Hmmm… a niece or cousin then. He glanced at the paternal look on john's face. Niece. Undoubtedly one of the seeming hundreds of john's younger relations who adored him.

He swept the front two rows. Ah yes, front left. A sandy haired man waving a little at Mary. John's Cousin George. He checked to the right of George to be sure and there was his wife and Mary's mother, Catherine. Sherlock sat back smugly and checked his watch. Two and a half minutes.

'George is looking well.' He said, idly.

John jumped and flushed. 'How?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Elementary, my dear Watson.'

John scowled 'You've never met George before tonight.'

'Yes I have. He was at your birthday party.'

John winced 'Oh Christ…'

Sherlock feigned shock 'John! In a church!'

At eleven thirty sharp, the service started. The red and black dressed girls descended from the choir stands, in some cases gracefully, in some not so much. Sherlock punctuated the respectful silence with casual observations on the choristers ('_She's_ sleeping with _her _boyfriend') but was quickly shushed when a blonde girl ('pregnant') pushed Mary to the centre. She blinked in the harsh light and shuffled her feet, swallowing a few times. Sherlock surprised himself by digging his fingers into the chair, willing the little girl to find her footing and sing. How odd, he thought, john must be rubbing off on me. Mary finally seemed to have gotten comfortable. She placed her feet shoulder width apart, took a deep breath, (from the diaphragm, noted Sherlock with approval) and started to sing.

It really was a beautiful voice. High and sweet but clear. Soprano, thought Sherlock, and a good one. Untrained, by the sound of it but really very good. She sang the first verse of 'once in royal David's city' perfectly, a cappella, whilst going progressively red. When the rest of the choir joined her, Mary almost instantaneously blanched back to her normal complexion. Sherlock nodded. He was glad John brought him along.

The rest of the service passed in a blur after that. The choir sang a few more carols and the whole congregation stood to sing 'Hark the herald' at midnight (with the exception of Sherlock, who was ripping it out of a rather large soprano on the end screeching her way painfully through the descant and John who was giggling far too much to sing) but for Sherlock, the high light of the evening had to be when he'd glanced across at John during Mary's solo and seen the flush of pride on his face as he gazed fondly at her.

At about quarter past twelve the service finished. Sherlock tapped John, who had begun to doze, and waited patiently as John woke up and scrambled out of their row, pulling Sherlock with him. Mary waited for the choir to be dismissed, then ran up the aisle, straight past her smiling parents and threw herself at John. 'I was right then,' thought Sherlock, 'Another little one who adores him.' Still clutching her choir folder (not to mention her Uncle's neck) Mary was gabbling away 'Did you like it Uncle John? Was I very good? Did you like the carols? Was I as good as the older girls?' John laughed and hugged her back, telling her that she was wonderful and every bit as good as the others but why wouldn't she sing for him or her mum and dad?

Sherlock spent quite a large amount of time staring into space and thinking up ways to untie the Gordian knot (Swords are cheating, Mummy had always maintained) until he heard 'Mary, this is my friend. Sherlock Holmes.' Sherlock turned around to find a suddenly very shy little girl hiding behind her grinning uncle. 'Sherlock, this is my niece. Mary Elizabeth Watson.' Mary smiled tentatively and then went back to minutely studying the back of John's jumper. Sherlock decided to break the ice when he noticed John's glare. 'You sing beautifully, Mary. Your Uncle is very proud of you.' Too late, he saw tears brimming in hazel eyes and then a whirl of chocolaty curls as she hugged him around the waist. 'Oh thank you! Thank you!' she sobbed. Sherlock was at a loss. 'That's quite alright.' He mumbled, nervously patting her back, before John detached the exhausted Mary into the waiting arms of her mother.

As they stumbled into the chilly night air a little later, Sherlock felt John touch his arm. 'Thank you.' He said. 'You made her very happy' Sherlock felt himself blush. 'Irrelevant. I only told her the truth and besides I was just repeating what you told her.' John sighed. 'I know, but you're not her family. Most people believe that family are biased. But she could probably tell that you weren't.' John breathed out, the water vapour crystallizing in the cool air. 'So just… thanks.' Sherlock grinned.


End file.
